Page 4 of Curveball

He pulls me until we’re out of sight and out of earshot. He immediately puts his face in mine and snarls, “What are you talking about?”

I gently push him away, needing some physical distance. “Quincy, this hot and cold, back and forth thing we do is over. I’m done with it.”

He shakes his head in disgust. “You can’t just decide we’re over. You’re my wife.”

Tears find my eyes. “I’m not your wife.”

“The hell you’re not. Check our marriage certificate, Shortcake, you’re mine. My. Wife.”

“On paper. Not in any of the ways that truly matter. I want a divorce. It’s long overdue.”

He shakes his head. “No. I won’t give it to you.”

“Quincy, it’s time for us both to move on. We’re not really married. We don’t live as husband and wife. We both see other people and lead separate lives. No one else except a randomjustice of the peace even knows we’re married. Not our families. Not our friends. No one.” I steel myself, knowing I need to be strong right now. “It’s time.”

He crosses his arms in defiance. “Nope. Not happening.”

“When you hear what I have to say, I promise that you’ll want the divorce too.”

“Over my dead body will I give you that divorce. Until death do us part.”

Tears begin streaming down my cheeks as I say the one thing that will forever push him away. He’ll want nothing to do with me when he finds out.

With sobs threatening to break through, knowing what this will mean, I manage to croak out, “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widen as what I’ve said registers. We stare at each other for several long beats.

Taking one deep breath, he does what I knew he’d do. Without another word, he turns and walks out the front door.

CALIFORNIA

THE EARLY YEARS

CHAPTER ONE

RIPLEY – AGE 5 {QUINCY – AGE 10}

“Are you ready for your first day of kindergarten, sweetie?”

I nod my head, trying to hide my fear of starting a new school in the middle of the year. Will everyone already have friends? Will there be room for me? What if I have to sit alone at lunch?

Mommy looks me up and down. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear something…prettier?”

I glance at my leggings and oversized Team Canada Olympic softball sweatshirt. It’s about as fancy as I get. “No. I’m good. Where’s my glove?” I don’t go anywhere without my softball glove.

She smiles as she hands it to me. “I can’t believe how warm the weather is here in January. We can throw outside after school today if you want.”

She’s right. We’d be under ten feet of snow right now if we still lived in Toronto.

We eventually make our way into the school. I try not to let my nerves get the best of me.

My mommy walks next to me with all the confidence in the world. She’s a beautiful, tall, skinny redhead. Her makeup and hair are always perfect. She dresses nicely too. Grown-up boys always stop to talk to her.

After my mommy fills out paperwork, we walk toward my new classroom. I hope the girls are nice. Sometimes girls are mean to me because of my size or because I don’t like to wear pretty dresses like they do.

I’m introduced to my new teacher, Mrs. Sandwick, who sends my mother on her way. Mommy starts her job teaching and coaching at the high school tomorrow, but today she’s supposed to be unpacking. Having moved about ten times in my five years in and around Toronto, I know it means that she’ll leave everything in boxes for months. I’ll end up unpacking everything because I hate when things are messy.

Mrs. Sandwick takes my hand as she calls the other students to come sit in a circle. “Class, this is Ripley St. James. She just moved here from Canada. Do you know where Canada is?”

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